Bridging the Gaps
by svuxfanfic
Summary: In the harrowing Season 15 premier, the world watched on as our beloved Olivia Benson struggled for her life in the most gruesome episode yet. But what happened during those marginal gaps the producers decided not to show us? This is my take on what happened when the cameras weren't watching, starting from the Season 14 finale and continuing to the present.
1. Her Negotiation

_Two days off, _I think to myself with a chuckle as I glide down the familiar sidewalk, enjoying the soft nighttime breeze that tosses my hair over my shoulders.

I couldn't help but feel a strange sense of gratitude for my temporary vacation—a concept very unusual for me. The irony doesn't escape me as I reflect back to a prior life, to the Olivia Benson of only a few short years ago; the Olivia Benson who would've ruthlessly fought her captain on his demands to take any amount of paid time off. But now I must admit that a long weekend sounds like nothing short of heaven. Maybe it's because I'm older now, the wild fire spunk inside me not burned out, only contained by years of wisdom. Or maybe it's because now, I have someone to come home to. A slight smile plays on my lips as I think of Brian, still adjusting to the unfamiliar flutter I feel in my chest when I think of him, of _us. _After years of living entirely alone and being married to my career, I apprehensively and excitedly welcome the affection that Brian and I share. I think that taking a few days to focus on us will be a really great thing. I also undoubtedly know that I could really use a few days to look away from this particularly haunting case.

_Yeah, right, _my mind scoffs, and to some degree, I know it is right. While I may have grown more wise and tame over the years, one thing will always remain, and that is my undying dedication to victims, and to justice. I never seem to truly escape these cases when I walk out of the precinct. This one especially.

My stomach reflexively churns at the memory of the William Lewis's case file. Every time I close my eyes, I see the battered bodies of his numerous victims—some living, some dead. Every one of them permanently marred and changed, their lives swept out from under them. Their very souls desecrated by one very, very sick man.

Night has just begun to fall as I approach my apartment building, the bag of my few necessary grocery items in hand. As I climb my usual four flights of concrete steps, I try desperately to rid my mind of the chilling images swirling before my eyes. By the time I reach my apartment, my efforts have proven useless. With a sigh, I assume that truly getting away from this case tonight will be a tragic impossibility.

I find the key in its usual spot ,in my back pocket, and unlock the door, swinging it open with one hand and stepping through into the darkness. Once my hand subconsciously flicks on the light switch, I let the door fall closed behind me and set my heavy bag on the counter. Unloading my heavy pockets from the day's work, I breathe a sigh of relief. It really is nice to be home. Just as I am about to release the gun from the holster on my belt, a sound coming from my bedroom pulls my focus away. For a moment, I freeze. Then, I feel my demeanor relax at the realization that Brian has a key to my apartment now. I suppose it would take a while for me to get used to someone else being around this place. As my hand slowly draws away from the gun, I can't help the small smirk that threatens to play on my mouth.

"Hello?" I call out.

I take a careful step toward the noise, assuming that my boyfriend had heard about my two days off and decided to surprise me. As I round the corner, I prepare myself for his open arms that are sure to be awaiting me in my room. Taking one final step, I open my mouth to call out once more when all of a sudden, the fantasy of my awaiting boyfriend is dreadfully ripped to shreds and replaced with the reality of the cold, menacing eyes of pure evil. My heart contracts painfully with a surge of fearsome emotion as I find myself staring down the dark barrel of a gun. My widened eyes struggle to accept the surreal terror unfolding before me. William Lewis.

"Welcome home, Detective Benson," He greets, his ominous voice seeming somehow deeper and darker than it ever did in the interrogation room.

For the first time, my fearful eyes flicker up to meet his penetrating glare, pleading with him silently as my mouth is unable to find words. No. This can't be happening.

His lip snarls up in an animalistic fashion as his eyes suddenly darken. Staring down at me like a hunter with his terrified prey, he lowers his gun—just barely—to stroke the cold, metal end across my clammy cheek. His face reflects a look of lust, hunger, and sick satisfaction. My mouth moves on impulse, struggling to find any kind of plea that it can muster. Anything.

"Please," I choke out in a barely audible whisper.

All at once his gaze deepens, his face contorting into a menacing glower as he lunges toward me, nearly knocking me off balance. But instead of hitting the ground, I feel him catch me by the waist and pull be back against him. Before I can comprehend his paralyzing movements, his arm snakes around my front and pulls my gun from the leather holster, stealing away with it my final strand of hope.

He leans down until his mouth his only inches from my face, his stronghold around my torso never losing its strength. I close my eyes, still unable to believe that this is happening.

"I guess today's your lucky day," he pants into my ear, alluding to our all-too sickeningly familiar conversation in the interrogation room.

Immediately, I cringe back at his hot breath on my cheek, heavily laced with the potent smell of alcohol. I swallow hard. No. No. No.

"Don't make a sound," he warns.

"Lewis," my throat croaks, my detective training kicking in, desperate to win him over any way I can. But I am quickly interrupted by the stern prodding of the metal barrel at my temple. Again, my eyes close tightly in fear.

"Oh no, no, no," he chastises, "See, what you need to learn is that _I'm _in charge now. Okay… Detective Benson?"

His voice teeters on the thin edge of an alcohol assisted craze and sends a trail of shivers down my spine.

"Answer me!" he shouts suddenly, his face on mine once again.

Out of fear, I nod my head quickly, letting out a faint whimper along with the first of many tears as he jabs his gun against my head once again. The feeling of helplessness and defeat threatens to drown me.

"Good girl," He whispers. I can hear the sickening smile in his voice.

Slowly, he raises his face back away from me and moves the barrel of the gun down to my lower back, nudging me harshly forward.

"Move," he barks.

Afraid for my very life, I blindly move forward, following his orders. With each step, disgust rises in my throat at how powerless I am against his weapon, and subsequently against him. Suddenly, my badge, and my independence, seems to lose all meaning and power inside these walls where William Lewis has forced his way into power.

He pushes me toward the middle of my small living room where he yanks chair from the bar and plants it firmly in front of me. Before pushing me forward again, he slips his hand into my pocket—causing me to recoil—and retrieves my silver link hand cuffs.

"Sit," he commands darkly.

Feeling a renewed rush of panic at the thought of being forcibly restrained and therefore even more powerless, my body convulses with tremors.

"Please," I croak as I spin quickly to face him again, my voice suddenly an octave higher, "Please, don't do this."

He steps toward me with a cocky smirk, pushing his gun into my throat as he grabs me once more around the waist.

"Maybe you don't quite understand, sweetheart," he whispers, his alcohol drenched breath only inches away from my own lips, "You're mine now."

At his last words, his lips curl up into a barbaric smile as I close my eyes and resist against his vile touch.

"Don't worry though," he assures, backing slightly away with his evil smile, "You'll learn that soon enough. I promise you that."

He catches me off guard by slapping me hard across my cheek and following through with a shove to the chest, knocking me backwards into the chair. Before I can retaliate, he is behind me, forcing my arms painfully backward with iron strength and struggling with the cuffs. I use this as my opportunity. Feeling the rage and fear steaming to a boil inside of me, I let loose with the loudest scream I can manage as I flail my arms and legs, kicking and punching.

"Help me!" I shout, desperate for someone, _anyone_, to hear.

Just as I feel I might be gaining some kind of control, I feel my cuffs lock tightly into place and I am bombarded with the sharp knock of a pistol to my forehead. Then blackness.

I awake to the crashing force of a hard hand across my cheek. Fluttering my heavy eyelids against the blaring pain in my head, I open my eyes to the hellish scene around me. It takes me two seconds to remember where I am, and when I do, I wish I had never woken up.

"It's time to wake up, sweetheart," Lewis's amused voice pulls me from my thoughts.

I peek up at his domineering figure with hatred glowing from my eyes, wishing that looks could kill.

Without warning, I feel the cold splash of alcohol running over my face and body as he empties the remainder of his 5Krazy can onto me. Instinctively, I fight against the assault and try to cry out, only to discover that my hands and feet are both bound tightly to the chair and my mouth is sealed shut with duct tape. A bubble of panic rises inside me at my ever-increasing state of helplessness.

When his can is empty, he crushes the feeble aluminum in one hand and chucks it at me carelessly.

As he walks away, I take a moment to gather in my surroundings which seem to have drastically changed while I was out cold. My apartment looks like a tornado hit: couches and chairs completely overturned, pictures knocked off the walls, vases shattered on the ground. The place is literally a disaster area. However, what strikes me the most is the countless empty alcohol cans scattered about my living room floor. In my training and experience as a cop, and even by growing up in my mother's home, I've learned the dreadful effects that alcohol can have on behavior… especially a tempered one.

"Now that you're up," Lewis calls from the kitchen, directing my attention to where he stands, "We can begin the fun."

Dread and disgust drops like a bomb in the pit of my stomach as Lewis steps aside to reveal a fully lit stove with a pan on it. Instantly, my mind flashes back to the horrific photos of his victims' bodies—scathed from head to toe with violent burns and cuts.

As a gut reflex, my arms pull helplessly on the too-tight cuffs around my wrists, only heightening the pain in my shoulders from the uncomfortable position. A stray tear of frustration escapes my eye when the unforgiving restraints leave me trapped.

"Don't go getting all worked up, now, honey," Lewis chuckles at me over his shoulder, "You're going to need that energy for later."

I breathe deeply through my nose and try not to think about the rather obvious implications of his words.

After throwing a few unknown items onto the hot pan with a clang, Lewis divides his attention away from the burner and staggers into the living room, grabbing a bottle of vodka and another kitchen chair on his way. Never taking his eyes off of my frozen body, he slams the chair down across from me and plops down. Under the weight of his heated glare, feel myself beginning to squirm and I instantly hate myself.

I can't let him win. I can't let him see any sign of weakness.

This concept, however, is easier said than done as I am soon reminded by Lewis's forceful hands suddenly on my legs. My nerves are suddenly on fire again.

As he runs his hands along the length of my thighs, I try in vain to pull away from his repulsive touch. Feeling his hands suddenly forcing my legs apart, my body kicks into overdrive, kicking and thrashing every which way and fighting against the wall of duct tape across my mouth.

Suddenly, his hands relax, carelessly sliding down my legs until the drop off at my knees.

His eyes hold a glisten like that of an eager child eyeing his new toy as his stare pierces into me.

"Why all this fighting, huh?" he questions, reaching a hand forward to stroke my face "I think you need a little something to help you relax."

Without warning, he rips the duct tape from my mouth, earning a cry from me as I feel my lip start to bleed from the force. Before I have a second to react to my newfound freedom to scream, I am blitzed with his iron grip on my face and the smooth glass neck of a bottle shoved halfway down my throat. My body instantly responds to the liquid fire invading my throat, my lungs heaving for air and my head jerking side to side, but I am no match for his brute strength.

The choking torture never seems to end as he continues to pour more and more vile liquid down my throat. I hear him laugh sadistically as he finally pulls the bottle from my trembling lips and I am horrified and surprised to see that almost half the bottle is empty. Instantly, I start to feel the effects of the alcohol sinking in on my unconditioned body.

My mind starts to spin as I look up into his demented, wild eyes. Abruptly, his drunken gaze deepens and his lips crash hard into mine. Suddenly panicked and desperate to escape the vice grip on my face, I thrash wildly away from his smothering kiss but I am once again deemed completely powerless. At the helpless feeling bursting in my chest and his wild mouth moving on mine, I am suddenly overcome with flashbacks from five long years ago; of a dark basement, handcuffs, and the hands of a different source of evil. Now plagued with two assaults instead of one, my throat viciously claws out the loudest scream I can manage, but all the sound is muffled against his unforgiving mouth.

As his hand beings to travel downward toward to hem of my shirt, my sense of panic heightens and I use this opportunity to thrust my head into his.

With the loud crack of our heads hitting together, he instantly staggers back, his hands grasping his forehead. But his moment of weakness is tragically short lived as he quickly glares down at me with a look of rage. My heart drops to my gut as he comes at me with a raised hand and swiftly strikes me across the face again, leaving what I'm sure to be another bruise. He hits me over and over until I can feel a small trickle of blood escaping my battered lips. His demeanor seems to have relaxed from his violent attack, all traces of anger replaced by that same eerie mask of calm.

"That wasn't very nice, detective," he whispers, only inches from my face, "I think you need to learn a little lesson about minding your manners."

I watch nervously as he walks away, heading for the kitchen once more where the smell of the stove burner has begun to waft throughout the apartment. Wordlessly, he yanks the heated pan off the stovetop and menacingly walks back over to my shaking body. My eyes are wide now, panicked in the dreadful anticipation of what I know is next to come.

Setting the hot pan on the carpet next to his chair, he looks down at me with a look of delight, his fingers slowly tracing their way down my collarbone until they reach the neckline of my shirt. Tearing the soft fabric only slightly, he rips down the front of my blouse, exposing the top of my chest. Vomit rises in my throat as I watch his eyes hungrily rake over the intimately exposed area of my body. I look away, unwilling to watch what is about to happen. After a few seconds, I hear him suck in a gasp of air through his teeth as his fingers find the first weapon of torture. The next second, I feel an incomparable pain seer into the soft flesh of my chest. Unable to stop the sound that erupts from my throat, I let out a blood-curdling scream as I thrash around in my restraints.

He laughs wickedly for a moment before slamming his fist into my head.

I reel back from the unexpected force of the blow. When I manage to recover from the dizzy spell that attacks, he is right in my face again, his hand ripping back my hair.

"As much as I love to hear you scream, Olivia, and I _really _do," he says "I'm afraid that we can't afford for anyone to hear you and come interrupt our time together."

My stomach churns at the sound of my name in his mouth. Immediately, he turns his back on me to pick up a roll of duct tape. I jump as he rips a piece off and slaps it hard over my bleeding lips. Instantly, my instincts fight the tape, my screams muffled to urgent whimpers behind the blockade over my mouth.

He looks down with a satisfied smile.

"Much better."

Sitting here in this chair, restrained and helpless with his evil eyes violating me, I just want to shut down. I want to die and not have to look at his face for one more second. Fear shudders through my body followed by a wave of self loathing for _letting _myself be afraid of this prick. But I _am_ afraid. I've seen what he is capable of, and never in a million years would I have suspected that I would be the next victim in this seat.

Pleased with his handiwork, Lewis looks me over one more time and then reaches into his pockets. I am repulsed to see him retrieve a full packet of cigarettes.

"No," I groan against the tape, but it only comes out as a whimper.

Whether it be from anger, fear, or a mixture of both, a stream of silent tears begin to make their way from my tightly closed eyes.

"Oh, don't cry," Lewis whispers in my face, suffocating me with a cloud of second-hand smoke.

I turn my head away but he quickly grips my chin in his hand, yanking me back to face him with no escape. With each long drag of his cigarette, he releases his toxic stream of air into my face, the grey puffs of smoke mingling with my salty tears.

With my eyes still tightly closed to block out his putrid image, there is no way for me to anticipate the screeching pain that suddenly assaults my chest, this time on the left side.

As the cinders of the hot cigarette tip ingrain themselves into my skin, I fight my restraints harder than ever. I would give anything to make the pain stop. He isn't as merciful this time, pressing the cigarette harder and harder with each passing second, savoring every moment of my pain. My eyes are wide open now, bloodshot and boring into his merciless brown orbs, begging and pleading with him to no avail.

When he pulls away, I'm still bucking wildly against the ropes around my ankles and the chains on my wrists. I'm pulling so hard when suddenly, whether it be from my wild thrashing or from the assistance of the monster beside me, I feel my chair tip off balance and I suddenly hit hard on the ground. Right before my world goes black once again, I feel a sick cracking sensation as both my ribs and head hit against the hard, unforgiving floor.

A violent stomp of an all-too familiar boot rips me away from my dark unconsciousness.

"Hey," I distant voice grumbles through my foggy mind.

As my eyes slowly crack open to the blurry scene around me, the dreadful memories shoot back at me. The gun. The alcohol. The burns. Lewis.

"There she is," his grave voice breaks through my haze as my world slowly begins to come into focus, "Those big, beautiful, brown eyes."

His rough hand glides lovingly across my blood-and-tear soaked cheek, causing me to flinch away with whatever strength I can manage.

"So beautiful," he repeats, his fingers running lightly to the base of my collarbone. As I try to recoil back from his touch, a sharp shooting pain radiates from my shoulder which is twisted into a most unnatural position behind the chair.

"Give me a smile," he taunts, his hand still wandering my body.

Barely able to move, let alone _smile, _my only reaction is to jerk my head away from his reach; a pitiful move at most.

"Still woozy, huh?" He mocks, disappearing out of my line of sight, "That's alright. We've got time."

Suddenly, his hands are on me from behind, picking me up along with my chair and setting me upright, like I am just an object. As soon as I am stable again, he reaches out to run a thick hand through my alcohol drenched hair. I barely have time to object before his hands explore elsewhere, now prodding between my legs with the tip of his gun.

I let out a groan of frustration as my ever-present restraints prevent me from escaping his intrusion. Now my heart is pumping fast, painstakingly aware of his touch on my body, his hands grabbing at my shoulders now, his voice right in my ear. Another flashback of that dark basement.

"Oh, don't be shy!" He taunts, "We're past that. You've been so sweet while you were knocked out!"

My already dizzy mind swirls with nausea at the potential implications of his words. What did he mean I had been "so sweet?" My stomach lurches at the thought of what he might've done to me in my vulnerable unconscious state.

"Another drink?" He offers, now sitting in the chair across from me, holding out the bottle of that same repulsive vodka. My throat burned and my stomach contracted at the thought of the vile drink, but the barrel of his gun made it pointedly clear to me that objection wasn't really an option.

"Why don't I take off that tape so you can say 'yes?'"

My heart skipped a beat at his words, my mind ready to snatch this opportunity to scream for help. Weakly, I nod my head at him, bracing myself for the ripping of the tape.

However instead of removing my bind, he startles me with a gun pushed to my chin. Suddenly, all ideas of retaliation dematerialize.

"One more thing," he barks, "You scream again, and I'll shove your own gun right down your throat."

I swallow. I have no doubts that he is telling the truth.

As he violently rips the duct tape from my skin, a surge of anger erupts in me and I lash out at him in the only way I can.

As my spit makes contact with his face, he cringes back, momentarily surprised. Despite how helpless my situation is, I can't help but feel a little well of satisfaction at his irritation. If he plans to kill me, which I'm almost positive he does, then the least I can do is get in as many blows of retaliation as I can.

"You know what?" I counter, feeling suddenly brave, "Just shoot me."

His sudden wide grin is an unexpected reaction. He almost seems to laugh at me as he tosses the idea around in his demented brain. Then he looks over at me with firm decisiveness: he's already got his mind made up.

"That's the end-game, sweetheart," he chuckles, wiping his hand across his forehead to remove the evidence of my counter attack from earlier, "We've got a lot of shock and awe to go before we do that."

His eyes glower as dark as his implications as he looks right through to my soul and licks his fingers clean of my own spit.

At that point, I feel all my momentary bravery slip like sand right through my fingers. As I avert my eyes in an involuntary display of disgust, he blitzes me once again with that god-awful vodka bottle. My lungs produce an involuntary cry as he forces my mouth open with one hand and preps the poison with the other, but we are thankfully interrupted by the startling sound of my cell phone.

_My cell phone. _

My stomach drops, but for the first time tonight it is not out of fear.

"That's probably my boyfriend," I explain as he lowers the bottle and steps away, searching for the source of the noise, "He's NYPD, he's on his way over here now."

Inwardly, I pray that my voice is strong enough to mask my lie.

"Boyfriend, huh?" he questions, picking up the ringing phone "Does he have keys?"

"Yes, he does."

He shoots me a look of skepticism.

"Funny, I don't see much of his stuff around here," he crosses to the other side of the room, "One robe in the bathroom, one toothbrush."

My eyes shift nervously. I'm caught.

"You wouldn't lie to me would you?" He narrows his eyes at me hauntingly.

Channeling my years of training as a detective as I try to reroute my tactic.

"Let's think about what you're doing now," I reason, struggling to keep my voice as even as possible.

"Oh, I'm thinking about it," he winks back at me, still holding my phone up to his ear. I clench my teeth in a desperate effort to hide my disgust, and fear.

"You walk out that door right now," I brush over his comment, "No one will know anything happened to me."

"No?" he ponders, "What about that pert little detective, huh? The blonde one? She's not going to notice all the bruises, all the cuts?"

My mind is rushing double speed now, quickly covering my tail with any lies that I can formulate on the spot.

"Cab stops short," I reply, "I hit my face on the divider."

He cuts me off with his finger nail suddenly digging deep into the key-shaped wound on my chest, causing me to cry out in response.

"What about this, huh?" He taunts in my face, "What about all these burns? She's like a dog with a bone, that one."

Trying my best to recover from the sudden paralyzing pain, I keep up my act.

"So what?" I counter in a shaky voice, "You've done far worse and gotten away with it. Your lawyer friend, the red head? She'll accuse NYPD of framing you after the trial!"

"Well, _mis_trial," he corrects with an ironic smile.

His confident tells me that he's not buying any of my ploys. More and more terrified, my voice raises in pitch.

"Lewis, GO," I plead, "Go get out of New York. You walk out that door right now and we'll pretend this never happened."

"You'll pretend this never happened?" He condescends, suddenly inches from my face with his greasy hand once again entangled in my hair. I cringe.

Without warning, he yanks my hair backward, forcing me to look up at his no-nonsense expression.

"You're lying," he growls.

He shakes my head again, drawing a whimper from my lips. I mentally curse myself. This is going very badly. I prompt myself one last time. _You have to do something,_ my mind urges, heart skipping.

"Billy," whisper, feeling the revulsion of using some pet name with him, "I'm offering you a way out."

And for the hundredth time this evening, his gun is on me again. This time, I barely blink an eye. If he's going to kill me, he's going to kill me. _It might even be the better of two fates, _a small voice echoes in the back of my mind. I try my best to shut it out.

"You're sill bargaining with me? Really?" he barks.

As I see I've lost my last chance with that ploy, I redirect on the fly.

"I'm an NYPD detective," I boast proudly, "My partner, my squad… the entire _department_ will hunt you down."

I feel my confidence boosting with each word, desperately trying to fight back the fear.

"You think you've put people through Hell?" I continue, "It will rain back down on you."

For a few everlasting moments of silence, my heart beats wildly out of my chest as the depraved man before me deliberates on his decision. When he looks at me, I momentarily feel like there might be a shred of hope. But alas. My last hope is crushed.

"Let it rain," I hear those dreadful words echo through my mind as the butt of his gun forfeits me to darkness.


	2. Fearlessness

_Bam. _I spring awake as my body is swiftly jerked forward, slamming into a hard surface by an unknown force. _Ouch. _The incessant pounding in my head returns as I blink my bloodshot eyes open to pure darkness. Distantly, the low rumbling of what sounds like an old running engine slowly begins to seep into my awakening consciousness. An engine, the darkness, the jerking movements; The realization hits me that I am in the trunk of a car. The trunk of _his _car. Groggily trying to pull myself from the heavy cloud of unconsciousness, I struggle to piece together the hazy puzzle leading up to my current predicament. My mind is spinning painfully now, nausea settling deep within at the memories of what had thus far occurred.

I can vaguely recall small tid-bits of information that my weary brain had managed to capture in my state of drunken unconsciousness. After the last assault from the butt of Lewis's gun, the next thing I remember is hearing his gruff voice in my ear as he'd thrown a cloak of darkness over my body. My bed sheets.

"_It's time to move on out, sweetheart."_

His words had danced in my head as I'd faded to black once more, urging every nerve in my body to fight back, but the alcohol and multiple blows to the head had definitely run their full effect on me. Even without the force of my then-removed restraints, I'd found myself completely immobilized and fully at his mercy. From there, everything is blurry: Lewis tossing me like a rag doll over his shoulder with a grunt, the metal clanging of the fire escape steps, a handful of pills forced down my throat with a bitter swirl of vodka. My fear, his enjoyment. My pleading eyes, his sadistic grin.

After that, my world is blank. For all I know, I can have been stuck in this tight, musty trunk for an hour or a week. All sense of time seems to have evaded me completely. Just as I begin to stir from my excruciating twisted position, the steady grumble of the car cuts to an abrupt stop, and my heart plummets with fear. Feeling vulnerable as ever, I brace myself for Lewis's evil face, his grave voice, and his angry hands which are sure to greet me at any second. But after a few minutes of dreadful silence, I begin to wonder where we are, where _he_ is. Unwilling to let a potential opportunity for escape pass me by, my body suddenly kicks into defense mode, kicking at the walls and screaming against the binds of my duct tape, hoping that someone, ANYONE, would hear me.

To my dismay, I am only greeted with more silence. Disappointment drops in my gut as I let my overly exerted body go limp, succumbing to the familiar blackness that threatens to swallow me up once again…

"Rise and shine, sweetheart!"

My eyes snap open to the rising lid of the trunk and the familiar silhouette of the Beast, his menacing frame contrasting against the dimly lit evening sky. As I blink to adjust to the small amount of light, the coolness of the dark blue evening tells me I've been out cold for the majority of the day.

"One heck of a power-nap, huh?" he chuckles, reaching down to rip away my duct tape, "Well I hope you got your rest. We're about to commence the festivities."

"Where are we?" I spit at him, looking around to find the surroundings of a driveway of an unfamiliar house. Instantly, freeze frames of Lewis's infamous MO flash through my mind. Back-wood cabins, empty trailers…Abandoned houses.

"You're about to find that out," he smirks.

Suddenly his arms are around me, lifting my confined body with sickening ease and tossing me carelessly over his shoulder.

"No! Let go of me!" I fight back, jerking hard against his constricting hold. I kick my legs wildly and manage to make contact with his torso.

Without warning, my pleas are cut abruptly short by his quick retaliation. With a grunt, he shrugs me recklessly off his shoulder, watching me crash with a thud back into the hard trunk.

Almost instantly, his face is in mine, the stench of his sweat melting into my pores.

"Listen to me right now," he whispers with sudden rage, "Because I don't like to repeat myself. You're _mine_ now, baby. There's no use in fighting it."

Despite the gripping fear in my stomach, I glare up at him defiantly, refusing to let him believe for a second that he owns me.

"Besides," he scoffs, his voice taking on its usual lighter edge once again as he grips my face between his palms, "All this fighting is just turning me on."

He doesn't allow me to duck away from the disgustingly hungry kiss that follows, limiting my only response to a feeble sob that escapes my violated mouth. When he finally pulls away, his satisfied grin is enough to make me gag. Suddenly, his eager eyes dance to something just below my neckline. I close my eyes in despair as his fingers ease downward to trace the gold emblem of my necklace.

"_Fearlessness_, huh?" he mocks, looking from the necklace to me and wiping his thumb across a stray trail of tears, "You don't look so _fearless _to me."

Another cry breaks through my lips as his rough hand effortlessly tears the thin, gold chain from my neck and tosses it beside me in the trunk.

"Let's go," he growls, his eyes once again overcome by that same lustful rage.

In another split second, I find myself over his shoulder again, my face smashed against the sweaty fabric of his shirt. As he drags my lifeless body through the open threshold of the mysterious house, I try my best to numb my body to his wondering hands that find their way to my backside. I close my eyes to the sudden image of Lowell Harris. The basement. Those hands. Please. This can't be happening. Not again.

I keep my eyes and mouth closed tightly as he walks me through the house, only daring to open them when he abruptly sets me onto my unsteady feet in what I assume to be a bedroom. But as soon as I can prepare myself to fight, I feel all strength drain from my body at the sight in front of me.

Tied up to the bed before us lays an unfamiliar woman, half naked, sobbing, and eyes piercing straight through my soul. She looks quite a few years older than me and by the look on her face, Lewis has already put her through the ringer. Instantly, my detective (and humanitarian) instincts kick in as I feel all concern for myself slipping away to be replaced by my concern for this stranger's well being.

"No," I whisper, barely able to manage a word through my spinning mind.

"I figure you could use a little on-the-job training before we get to the main event," he winks as he drags my frozen body backward into a chair that he has positioned right beside the bed.

Shocked and dismayed, I peer up at him through wide eyes.

"Lewis," I plead, desperation now evident in my voice, "Please don't do this. Let her go."

His eyes dance with amusement as he flicks his gaze from the crying woman then back to me.

"Now why would I do that, sweetheart?" he cocks his head, "You jealous of someone else joining in on our party? Well, don't worry. You'll get your turn, baby."

I close my eyes tight together, forcing down an involuntary surge of nausea as I will myself to say my next words.

"Please," I beg, trying to no avail to keep my voice steady, "You can have me, okay? I'll do whatever you want, just please… let her go."

From his kneeling position, he finishes up his final knots of constricting rope on my legs and looks up at me with a smirk that sends shivers down my spine.

"What you fail to understand," he whispers, dragging the tip of his gun slowly across my cheek, "Is that you will do whatever I want, _regardless._"

I flinch back as he suddenly springs to his feet, pulling off his sweat covered tee shirt in one fluid motion and tossing it toward me.

"Stop," I plead, closing my eyes against his repulsive bare skin.

Once again, he is in my face.

"Oh, no no no," he chides, "Open your eyes. I'd hate for you to miss a single moment of the fun. And no talking. It's not your turn yet, honey."

I jump as he smacks yet another piece of duct tape over my swollen lips.

At the dreadful sound of his zipper, I fight and pull and scream with everything I have in me against my binds. I can't believe this is happening, that I'm _letting _this happen. After years of dedication to stopping and preventing rape, I'm about to witness the gruesome act right before my eyes. That woman, that poor woman on the bed; I have to help her, but I can't. My heart grows heavy with the guilt of the sin that is about to be committed.

I close my eyes again as he crawls on top of her. No, no, no, no.

"Hey!" he barks, causing my eyes to spring open once again, "You keep your eyes open, or she gets to pay for it."

I shudder as he pulls out a cigarette and lights it between his fingers.

With my heart beating frantically at the horrific scene before me, I struggle to keep my eyes open wide. As if the long lasting effects of the sleeping pills and vodka weren't already taking their toll, the horror of the scene before me only added to my weary nerves. I can feel my mind begin to swirl with threatening blackness as my heart rate continues to rise.

Once I realize that saving this woman is a tragic impossibility, my mind races to find any way to help her. My eyes reach out for hers, hopeful to send her some sort of comfort. But one look into her terror-stricken eyes and my heart explodes from my chest. I feel my body freeze as I stare into her slowly detaching eyes, shock completely overtaking me as well. Another wave of guilt crashes over me as I realize this is torturing me just as much as it is her. Dizziness threatens to drown me.

I don't even realize that my eyes have fluttered closed until I hear a blood-curdling scream that jolts me to life again. When I open my eyes, I see Lewis jamming a lit cigarette into the pale skin of the woman's now exposed chest, looking right into my eyes.

"Stop!" I try to yell, but the duct tape shatters my desperate pleas.

"I told you not to close your eyes!" he laughed.

As Lewis reaches down to tear away the thin remainder of her clothing, her crying eyes look over to me hauntingly, begging me for the help that I cannot offer her.

Lewis knows my passion for victims, he's using that against me, breaking me down in any way that he can. And it's working. Oh, is it working.

The sound of the bed springs brings a new rush of tears to my eyes as the woman lets out a shriek of pain.

The despicable monster wipes a stream of sweat from his forehead and looks over at me.

"Some cop you are," he scoffs, never stopping his sickening motion, "Not even trying to save a helpless victim."

I can feel my mind melting out of my brain from the corruption, the exhaustion, the vile, disgusting scene before me. Beyond the initial guilt of helplessly watching this unspeakable crime unfold before me comes an even greater sense of guilt. The sense of selfish fear I have for my own well-being. As I sit here completely immobilized, I am forced to watch the Beast in action for the first time. No amount of crime scene photos, victim's statements, in-room interrogations, or even my own torture at my apartment could have prepared me for this. Suddenly, I am overwhelmed with the fear and revulsion of what he has planned for me later. I can see myself falling victim to him without a power to stop it, and I just want to die.

_So much for fearlessness_.

As my heart rate approaches dangerous limits, I feel my mind going black again.

_No! _I shout to myself, _Keep your eyes open! Fight! Don't let her suffer anymore because of you._

But it is too late. As my eyes slam shut to an unmovable darkness, I hear one final scream of pain that resonates long after my mind has fallen unconscious.


	3. One Move, Lights Out

"_One move, lights out… I'll do you cold."_

A shudder of fear and revulsion ripples through my body at his words. Unable to budge my face from his iron grasp, my eyes remain frozen, locked on his in the tight proximity of this enclosed SUV. He is dead set. What little hope that remains is quickly faltering under his decisive glare; he fully intends on taking what he wants… whether I'm dead or alive.

"But I much rather prefer them alive and kickin'," he adds, his hands raking downward to capture my breasts in a painful vice.

I cry out against my duct tape, earning a look of euphoria from the beast in front of me.

"Yeah… you're going to be so much fun," he reaffirms, nodding to himself thoughtfully and snaking his hands up through my alcohol-soaked hair, "Oh, the things I have planned for you, Detective Benson."

I swallow hard as he immerses himself into his story, struggling profusely to rid my eyes of all emotion.

"You know that little show you got to watch with that sweet old lady?" he coos, running his fingers almost tenderly through my hair, "Well, sweetheart, that was nothing compared for the show I have for you. See, you're a fighter: you think you're so tough, so strong… I could see it way back in that interrogation room, you know. How much you needed a good beat-down… how much I wanted to be the one to put you in your place. I mean, I like 'em feisty as much as the next guy, don't get me wrong!"

His hungry grin abruptly fades into a look of sheer animalistic dominance as he leans in, only inches away from my face.

"But I can promise you one thing," his hot breath tickles against my cheek, "By the end of my night with you, I'll have you begging and pleading just like the rest of them. I _will _break you, Olivia."

In a display of pointed defiance, I harden my glare against his, mustering all my strength to cover up the terror that is sure to be written in my eyes. But his gaze is unfaltering. Truthfully, I've never been more terrified in my life.

After one more sudden bile-provoking, violating kiss, he abruptly yanks me forward, forcing me onto the floor of the backseat once again.

I cry out in protest as the too-tight cuffs cut into my skin from my new awkward predicament. Picking up on my discomfort, he leers down at me with that same smug smirk and immediately reaches down to lock the restraints even further into place.

"Hope those aren't too tight for you, sweetheart," he winks as he throws a cheap blue tarp over my body and slams the car door shut.

Finally out of his wicked sight, my tired eyes begin to let free the aching streams of silent tears.

I can't believe I am finding myself here. _Here. _Tied up, gagged in the back of some psychopaths stolen car. Helpless, crying, bleeding. Drunk. How did I get here? A wave of disgust crashes over me, not only at my situation, but at myself. Even though I've grown wiser now, more tame since my first rambunctious years at SVU—especially after working through the horror that was the Sealview attack—I still can't silence that echoing voice of pride inside me.

_Don't be weak. You let your guard down. Cops don't let themselves get into situations like this. _

_My squad would be so disappointed. _

Instantly, my heart contracts at the thought of the guys back at the squad. Surely they know I'm missing. Surely they've already sent out dozens of search parties, scavenging the entire city… right? What do they think of me now? Of my capability? Reliability? Captain. Nick. Finn. Munch. Amanda… _Brian_.

At his name, I squeeze my teary eyes shut. I can almost feel his warm embrace around me in a soft bed, hear his deep resonating laughing at his own juvenile jokes, see that cocky grin that I have grown to love so much spread across that face. Suddenly, the thought of never seeing him again, feeling him again, crushes my heart into pieces.

And then of course… there is Elliot. The one who left me in the dust, abandoned me without so much as a goodbye. By partner. My best friend. Surely my story would have made it on the news by now if I've been reported missing; an NYPD detective would demand high priority with the media. Somewhere in my mind, I had to believe that he was out there seeing this, thinking of me, coming to the rescue wherever he may be. What would he think…?

_No, _I scold myself.

I can't go there, not now.

As I try to slow my erratic breathing around my incessant crying, my mind flickers instead to how the investigation might be going. Two or three days in—I couldn't quite be sure from all the sleeping pills and vodka—they are sure to have some sort of lead, right?

I inwardly cringe at the mental visual of my very own photo pinned up on the evidence board. It just seems so unnatural.

_Me. _Olivia Benson. The Victim.

**Brian Cassidy POV:**

Olivia Benson. _My _Liv. The victim.

I shake my head in disbelief as I bore holes through the evidence board with my eyes.

It truly seems completely unnatural. That beautiful face pinned up next to that monster's.

For about the millionth time today I squeeze shut my eyes and begin another trail of pacing across the squad room floor.

_2 Days. _

I try to recall how Munch had advised me about not letting my mind wonder… but how is that really an option? I mean, I fall in love with the girl the day I lay eyes on her, spend 13 years thinking about her, finally get the privilege of calling her mine, and now this? She gets ripped away from me right when we are getting to a good spot with each other?

I love her. I really do.

The constant thoughts of what that…that depraved_ lunatic_ could be doing to my Olivia at any given moment… What kind of vile, degrading, dehumanizing things he could be doing to break down her very soul…It makes me sick.

I would never tell her in a way that would ever risk making her feel underestimated or anything, but I do feel a strong urge of protection over her. She's my best friend. If my mom taught me anything in life, it's to find a girl, fall in love with her, and spend the rest of your life defending her with everything you have. Well, Olivia is that girl for me. She always has been. And what am I doing now to protect her? Huh? I'm literally just standing around like a waste of space in this bustling squad room. They won't let me near this case, and it kills me. _Conflict of interest _my left foot. No one is more motivated to find her than I am.

Once again, my eyes draw back to William Lewis's photo on the board, that sick waste of human life. It takes everything I have in me not to rip that vile picture off the board and tear it to shreds. I mean, this guy is a whole other breed of psychopath. I've encountered a lot of creeps on the job, especially in my time at SVU, but this guy… he is something else. What he does to these women; how he completely desecrates their humanity, breaks their bodies, batters their souls…

I sink back against Liv's empty desk—suddenly unable to support my own legs—and bury my face into my palms. This can't be happening. Not to her, not to _Olivia. _Beautiful, exhilarating, fearless Olivia Benson… Man, what is this going to do to her? How is she going to move past something like this? Can she ever be the same?

_If she even survives. _

The sound of my own fist making hard contact with the desk startles me from my thoughts, and I look up to see Amaro standing in front of me, a plastered look of exhaustion and fear mirroring my own.

"Hey," he grumbles, his voice sounding as rough as his face looks, "You holding up okay?"

Any other time I would tell this arrogant prick to get lost, given our obvious history of distaste for each other, but today is different. Today, we are not only brothers in blue, but we are pulled together by an even heavier force. One that is admittedly irreplaceable and precious in both of our lives.

With a resigned sigh, I flick my drooping eyes up to meet his.

"No, man," I reply honestly, "No, I'm actually doing pretty awful, all things considered."

He opens his mouth to say something but closes it again, setting his jaw in place with a firm look of defiance in his distant eyes.

"Yeah," he replies simply, "Yeah, me too."

For a few seconds, we stand in an uncomfortable silence, but neither of us are alert enough to care. When his cell phone buzzes from his pocket, he seems to jump a mile out of his skin before reaching frantically to answer the call that might be a lead.

"Hello?" he barks urgently into the phone as soon as he answers the call.

For the next few seconds, I study his cautious gaze, trying hard to read what answers might lay there. As soon as he hangs up, he shoves the phone back into his pocket and moves to walk past me.

"We've got something."

My heart skips a beat.

"What? Where?" I demand, standing straight up once again.

He shoots me a torn expression.

"We'll keep you updated… Just… hang in there, man," he whispers before clapping a supportive hand on my shoulder and brushing past me toward the elevator.


	4. Someplace Special

**Olivia's POV:**

"We're here!" Lewis's sing-song invades my ears as he throws open the back door of his most recent stolen vehicle. The third one, to be exact. Fourth if you count the patrol car.

Through my hazy, drunken exhaustion, I feel Lewis's hands on me again, and I barely have the energy left to fight him. All that I can register is the overwhelming call of darkness that beckons, the temptation of sleep that seems to be constantly on the horizon. As his wondering hands pull me from my restraints on the floor of the car, he leans down to my ear with a whisper.

"I found the perfect place," he brags eagerly, his voice edged with a twinge of giddiness, "I am going to have so much fun with you, sweetheart."

Trailing the end of his sentence with a grunt, he suddenly yanks me upward, heaving me face-first onto an unforgiving surface of gravel. _Ugh. _With a pained groan, I force open my heavy eyelids. My aching wrists are still locked tightly behind my back, so I have no other choice but to lie helplessly with my face buried in the jagged pool of rocks while Lewis fumbles around with some stuff in the car. From my painful position, I turn my head to the side to take in my new surroundings. My first observation sends a chill down my spine: a lake. A forested area. A back road. Not only am I far from home, but the ambiance is chillingly—intentionally—secluded and isolated.

As the car door slams shut from behind me, I brace myself for whatever impact is sure to come next.

"Alight, up we go," Lewis growls, his meaty hands digging into the flesh of my arms and pulling me to my unsteady feet.

As soon as I am upright, the full effect of the alcohol washes over me and I immediately lose my footing, swaying limply into my only source of balance.

"Oh, easy there sweetheart," he chuckles as I fall against him, forced to lean into his side, "Try to contain yourself. I know, I'm excited too."

Swallowing back a surge of disgust, I immediately struggle to pull myself away, but the dizziness is overwhelming and he accommodates with a firm arm around my waist, caging me against his sweaty body. The smell of him assaults my nostrils and sends a swell of nausea through my body. As he lugs my struggling body alongside him toward the house, my blurred eyes flutter closed against the blaring sun. The pounding in my head is incessant. Every fiber of my being aches to fight him, to break free, but my intoxicated body feels so numb, so distant from my mind; like they refuse to work together.

He pulls me up the steps and through the glass-paned door with ease, closing it behind him with a firm kick of his boot. The whole living area is nothing but a blur out from under my drooping eyelids. It's not until we approach the door to the next room when my senses kick fully into gear. As he tows me through the dark green doorway, my heart sinks into my boots.

_The bed. _

My eyes widen with fear as I suddenly feel myself fly face first onto the springy white mattress, forced to take the full blow of the collision because my bound arms prevent me from catching my fall. Abruptly, the Sealview memories flood again. _The handcuffs, the dirty mattress, his calloused hands. My impending fate. _My stomach quivers at the thought that it's all happening again. Except this time, there was no Fin to bust through the door at the last minute and save the day. This time, it was only me left alone with this terrible beast, helplessly forced to take whatever cruel punishment he desired to take out on me.

I brace myself for the worst as I half-expect him to immediately pounce on my vulnerable body. When his body never comes, I open my eyes and painfully struggle to flip over to face him.

And then I spot it.

_A bathroom. _

All at once, the burning urgency in my bladder I've been repressing for hours rises to the surface. _No_. I clench my teeth, fighting back against the betrayal of my own body. _No. I can't. I can't. _I close my eyes tightly. I figure that somehow this has been part of his loosely-constructed game plan all along; to further my dehumanization by forcing me to rely on him for something as simple as going to the toilet. Honestly, the thought of using the toilet _in front_ of him, of having to remove any layer of clothing to do so, is almost more overwhelming than the growing urgency in my bladder.

_Almost. _

Lewis is rambling on faintly in the background now—something about having to go ditch the van. As I dare to glance up at him, he returns my gaze with piercing eyes.

"You gonna miss me?" he whispers, his voice full of fictitious gentleness.

I groan. Unable to hold out any longer, I gesture pleadingly toward the small bathroom in the corner, hoping that my feeble whimpers against the tape will be indication enough.

"Hm?" he questions, narrowing his eyes and turning around to follow my gaze.

Then he sees. I close my eyes in defeat as he instantly sinks into a smug, arrogant posture at the sudden realization.

"Of course," he chuckles, basking in my humiliation, "It's been a long time. All that vodka, right?"

He saunters over to the bed, towering menacingly over my helpless figure, reveling in my obvious moment of weakness.

"Let's go."

With great effort, I manage to flip my stiffened body over onto my back, wincing at the slicing pain that cuts through my restrained wrists as I do so. Pain and dizziness swarm my body ferociously, every movement a shockwaves that consume my entire being.

"Do you need help?" He asks, his voice coated with a thick layer of eerie seduction.

Momentarily, I glance upward to see his hungry eyes lapping up my struggling body. With a surge of disgust, I realize just how much he is enjoying this; watching me rendered powerless by my physical trauma and restraints, watching me struggle to even muster a sitting position. He is having a field day. I let out a groan from behind my duct tape as the fragile cage of my surely-broken ribs sends a slice of objection through my body. One leg off the bed, then the other. Another spout of pain.

"I can help you," he gently prompts again.

I close my eyes against the obviously-intended humiliation and try once again to pull my upper body to an upright position. As another jolt of pain shoots through my body, I let my head fall back in frustration.

_Bang. _My eyes spring open to see Lewis pouncing toward me on the bed.I let out a suppressed cry as he scoops a strong arm underneath my waist and effortlessly pulls my body up to meet his, a gesture obviously intended for no other reason than to remind me of our unmatched strength and further my humiliation.

As I am once again met with the cold barrel of a gun to my throat, I recoil against our sudden closeness, averting my eyes as he glowers lustfully down at me, only inches away from my face. Instinctively, I brace myself for another kiss that I pray to God doesn't come, unable to bear another crude violation from his violent mouth. A small mercy: he seems to decide against it as he roughly pushes me away from him, prodding me toward the bathroom with his gun. All at once, the sinking feeling returns as I am quickly reminded of the task at hand. The restroom.

Apprehensively, I force my legs in the direction of the small closet of a bathroom, the nagging sensation in my bladder growing more urgent with each passing second, along with the sickening nerves in my stomach. A small, naïve voice in the back of my mind silently prays that by some miracle he will decide to grant me freedom from my cuffs and the privacy of a closed door.

_Right._

My wispy hopes are crushed as he shoves me roughly into the bathroom, following in behind me and closing the door.

"Well," he throws his hands up, gesturing to the porcelain structure behind me, "Go ahead."

I let out a defeated sigh, knowing where this is going, and swallow back the rising lump in my throat.

"Oh… that's right," he chuckles with feigned innocence, "You're a little _tied up_ at the moment, aren't you?"

A satisfied grin spreads across his cheeks.

I groan and close my eyes. Of course he is going to milk this opportunity for all it's worth.

"Maybe if you ask nicely… I could help you?" He proposes, stepping toward me and running an icy cold finger across the edge of my duct tape.

Swallowing back another wave of nausea, I force myself to nod at him, hating myself with each act of compliance.

"Yeah?" He patronizes, stroking my cheek gingerly before roughly ripping the tape from my tender skin.

"Well?" he whispers.

A few moments pass in silence as I struggle desperately to force out the degrading plea. Finally, I suck in a deep breath and close my eyes.

"Will you remove my cuffs so I can use the restroom?" My words jumble together, my voice drenched in humiliation.

When he doesn't make a move to respond, I bring my eyes up to his and I'm met with a sadistic grin.

"Oh, no, honey," he steps closer to me, "See, that's not the game plan."

Puzzled, I search his eyes for an explanation.

"These cuffs," he reaches around to grab my forearm roughly, "aren't going anywhere, baby."

Despite my trembling nerves, I stop short and peer up at him with a hint of irritation. Just as I am about to demand what on Earth he expects me to do, it hits me. I know exactly what he wants.

The only way I am using this toilet is if _he _unfastens my pants for me. Pulls them down. Exposes me.

He wants to make me ask him to take off my clothes.

As the fear and revulsion well up in my throat, I let my eyes fall back to the ground. Suddenly, the urgency in my bladder is blaring again. I know I can't hold out much longer. The overwhelming mix of sensations forces tears to spill over the brims of my eyes.

"Please," I beg, unable to keep my voice from trembling in despair.

A smile tugs at his lips.

"Please what?" He prompts, his finger traveling down my body to gently tease at the buckle of my belt.

I squeeze me eyes shut, turning my head as far away as I can, wishing I could escape from here. Wishing I wasn't about to say what I was about to say. As the nagging in my bladder pushes me over the edge, I let out a whimper before muttering my dreadful words:

"Will you please… pull down… my pants?"

He smiles.

"My pleasure, darling," he finally whispers, pulling me from my revere.

As fully anticipated, he draws the process out as long as he can, taking his time with my belt buckle and moving his fingers slowly, deliberately to the fasten on my black pants. The sound of my own zipper sends an involuntary shudder through my body. I curse myself as my throat pushes out a soft whimper. As the burning in my bladder grows relative to the nausea in my stomach, Lewis slips his thumbs through the belt loops on my waistband and begins his gradual journey downward, the palms of his hand tracing over ever curve of my freshly exposed skin as he guides the black material down all the way to the floor around my ankles. From there, his hands waste no time exploring their way upward again, giving my thighs a firm squeeze before tracing their way up to the line of my silk underwear.

I swallow hard, tears now freely flowing down my cheeks from the horrid degradation that is being inflicted on my body. Every instinct in my body wants to fight him, to gain control of the situation… of my body. But my restraints, just like him, are unforgiving.

I almost can't believe what is happening as he slowly and purposefully pulls away my last shred of thin fabric, fully exposing my lower half.

Unwilling and unable to stand exposed before him for another second, I quickly lower myself onto the porcelain throne behind me. My body wastes no time relieving itself as soon as my skin finds the cold seat. However, the feeling of relief is short lived as I soon feel Lewis's hands stroking through my hair, twirling it gently between his fingers as he stands over me dominantly. To no avail, I try my best to shut out his presence entirely as I finish up on the toilet. I jump a mile at the sudden sound of a flush.

"Get up," he barks at me, his mood suddenly back to a darker one.

As quickly as I can manage on my trembling legs, I push myself to a standing position, keeping my eyes cast down. Now with the urgency in my bladder gone, the only sensation left to feel is the raw humiliation and shame radiating from my body. Despising the putrid feeling of being exposed to him, I clench my fists and try my best to keep my composure as I wait for him to pull up my pants.

"Please," I force through gritted teeth.

After a few minutes of unresponsiveness, I risk a glance up at him. When I do, I instantly regret it. His haunting eyes bear into me with a look of animalistic desire, scanning over the freshly exposed parts of me. Abruptly, he lunges forward, grabbing my unsuspecting body in his greedy hands and jerking me forward into a soul-trembling kiss. My eyes grow wide with panic as I stiffen against his kiss, instantly fighting his unrelenting hands.

_Cuffs around my wrists, pants around my ankles. This is it. _

"Please, no!" I cry out, my heart suddenly beating a thousand times a minute.

In one moment I am pressed against his body, then before I have time to react, my face makes hard contact with the granite counter of the bathroom sink as Lewis forces me over at the waist. I'm fighting now more than ever, the feeling of my naked vulnerability suddenly overwhelming me.

"No, stop!" I scream into the cold surface.

My hands thrash wildly against the steel cuffs and my legs struggle to get loose from the binding of my pants at my ankles, but he holds me easily in place. With one hand firmly on the back of my neck, he uses his other hand to explore the bare regions of my body. I can feel him pressed against me from behind and I can't stop screaming.

"Help me! Somebody, help! Stop!"

In my mind, the haunting cadences carry on: _Harris. Lewis. Basement. Bathroom. This is it. _

Suddenly, everything stops. All at once Lewis steps back from me, leaving my trembling body frozen over the counter, removes his hands, and stoops to the ground to collect the bunched collection of clothing around my ankles. In a few easy movements, the clothing is restored to my body and he flips me around to face him so he can readjust my belt buckle. Through a blur of tears and adrenaline, I peer up at him with shock—and slight confusion—in my eyes.

"Don't worry baby," he whispers, running a hand through my dampened hair, "I want to save the main event for a little later when we can take our time. Right now, I've got to take care of that van. Wouldn't some nosey people coming to interrupt our time together, now would we?"

Still reeling from the absolute shock of what has just happened/almost happened, I barely register my own movements as I am once again dragged out and thrown onto to the bed.

Within minutes, he manages to subdue me completely to his will: my wrists cuffed to the sickeningly-convenient iron head frame and my legs bound tightly together with tape. As he slaps on the finishing touch of duct tape over my mouth, he stands back to admire his handiwork, wiping away of stream of sweat with the back of his sleeve.

"That's much better," he comments, "You comfortable, sweetheart?"

My only response is a sharp intake of air through my nose as I try to calm the erratic sobbing protruding my airways. As I fight against the overwhelming panic from my crippling restraints, his eyes wonder eagerly over my body, admiring his helpless prey. I want to vomit.

"So beautiful," his whispers, his voice dripping with seduction as he reaches forward to run a hand over my leg.

At my attempt to jerk away, I am mocked once again by my relentless bindings which allow me little opportunity for movement, and _no _opportunity for escape. He chuckles at the disparity that is inevitably written all over my tear-soaked face.

"Oh, _cheer up!"_ he sooths, wiping away a stray path of tears "I'll only be gone for a little while, I promise."

His eyes linger on me for just a few eerie seconds before he finally turns and walks out the door.


	5. Ain't We Got Fun?

_Please, God, someone wake me up from this nightmare. _

It is all I can think as I lay here, tied to this filthy bed.

A nightmare. Surely, that's what this is. Surely, I am not _actually _here right now; not _really_ vulnerable, bound, cuffed. _Again. _

But as the biting pain in my encaged wrists continues to remind me… I really am. This is real.

It's been probably about an hour since Lewis left to go ditch the car. In his absence, I've tried futilely to yank my arms from their harsh bindings, only to result in what feels to be a broken wrist. With each hopeless pull, I feel my heart growing weaker and weaker, drained of all energy. No food, little water, and _lots _of alcohol and medication—Four awful, grueling days worth—has definitely taken its toll on me. Though at this point, the only feeling that I can truly process is the fear. As I lay here, flat on my back on this dirty, thin mattress with my arms pinned tight above my head, my mind inevitably flashes through the horrors that I have endured thus far.

_ "Help me! Please, stop!" The trill screech jerks me from my unconsciousness, "No, please!"_

_ My head snaps up to meet the sound and I gag at the scene before me. That elder woman. Lewis. On top of her. _

_ I had passed out. _

_The rancid smell of cigarette smoke fills my lungs and brings me to full consciousness, also reminding me of the consequences of my own mistake. Quickly, my panicked eyes find a welted collection of circular burns at the base of her collarbone and I immediately scream out against the tape that covers my mouth._

"_Oh, look who's awake!" Lewis snaps his head up in surprise, not even bothering to pause his vile movements to do so. _

_Wordlessly, I stare wide-eyed and panicked at the horrific scene before me. _

"_Remember, I told you to keep your eyes open, sweetheart," He taunts, "But you were a bad girl, so sweet little Mrs. Mayer here had to suffer for you."_

_My stomach drops to my knees. Mrs. Mayer? His lawyer's _mother!_?_

"_I gotta say," Lewis continues, "She's not as sweet as her daughter… and definitely not as sweet as you will be, baby."_

_He winks at me before pulling out another cigarette. _

My entire body trembles from the lucid memories that will never leave my mind.

_From the backseat floor, I try my best to keep myself awake and coherent. I've had enough of being knocked out, being vulnerable and unaware. But around me, the confined atmosphere of the stolen SUV threatens to suffocate me. With my nerves so heightened, it feels like every sense around me is amplified._

_Metal bracelets digging into the flesh of my wrists. _

_Pain shooting through my cracked ribs with each bump and jostle. _

_His chilling voice carrying off-tune melodies throughout the car._

_That song. _

"_Ain't we got fun?"_

_He tosses a smug glance at me over his shoulder and I turn away, resisting the overwhelming urge to puke. The memory of him telling me how he was going to find "someplace special" for us keeps echoing through my head. My mind keeps involuntarily painting out pictures of what he has planned: an empty house, complete isolation, somewhere where he can "take his time with me."_

_Suddenly, the familiar sound of police sirens perk my ears as I see the flashing red and blue through the back windshield. A twinge in my stomach, a glimmer of hope._

"_He's young," he warns coolly, "One move and he's dead."_

I'll never forget that gunshot. Even now, it rings through my head; the sound of that boy's young life being ripped away by a heartless beast. And my own selfish fears had erupted, knowing that if he would murder a complete stranger in cold blood, what more would he do to me? Panic rises in my chest and my arms lash out against their restraints as the onslaught of flashbacks progresses.

"_You've been so sweet when you were knocked out."_

"_Let it rain."_

"_Fearlessness, huh? You don't look so fearless to me."_

"_Some cop you are."_

"_You don't get to say NO anymore!"_

"_Someplace special…"_

"_One move, lights out. I'll do you cold."_

"NO!" I'm screaming against the tape now, bucking wildly against the mattress, against the hard metal frame.

I can't let this happen. I can't. _Please_, God. Don't let this happen.

The cuffs dig painfully even further into my wrist but I barely notice the small trickle of blood that oozes from my bruised and broken skin. Before I know it, tears of frustration and fear are pricking at my eyes as I kick and thrash at my unforgiving, unrelenting restraints.

_Wake me up from this nightmare. _

With heaving effort, I painstakingly work my bound legs to the edge of the bed before planting them on the hard wood floor, desperate to find some way out of here. Maybe with better leverage I can work with something.

But just as my feet hit the ground, I hear the heart-stopping sound of the back door slamming shut, then those haunting boots clamoring down the hall. He's back.

**A/N: Okay guys, so this is just a little chapter I wanted to throw in before it gets to the heavier stuff. With that being said, here's the deal for the next chapter… As you've read, my story has been pretty canon-centered for the most part, and I fully intend to keep it that way. However, this next chapter will involve a bit of an action change that the premier did not have/show. Let's just say… what might have happened had Luisa and her mother been running a few hours behind?**


	6. Survive

**A/N: So, as promised, here's where things get a little plot-twisty (while still sticking to the basic premise of the original storyline, of course). Brace yourselves, young ones. **

The second he entered through the doorway, stopping dead in his tracks and laying that paralyzing gaze on my vulnerable body, my heart stopped beating in my chest. Frozen in place with my eyes wide open, I braced myself for the slew of angry violence that was sure to be unleashed at my feeble escape attempt. But his drunken, glazy eyes only darkened for a moment before showing a glimpse of amusement as he carelessly tossed yet another 5 Krazy can onto the floor.

"You going somewhere?" He asked accused flatly, sauntering toward me and stepping easily over my extended body.

Dreadfully, I watched as his hands moved to mine, followed by a surge of pain shooting through my already swollen wrists as he forced my handcuffs impossibly tighter around my limbs. The pain was unbearable as I cried out against my duct tape, but he only laughed and scooped a strong arm beneath my legs to fling me back onto the springy mattress like a rag doll.

"Not without me, you're not," he taunted, his eyes suddenly dark and leery once again, "I told you I would be right back!"

I struggled against him as he reached down and violently ripped the strip of duct tape from my bloody, swollen lips. As he made his way behind the bed, my wide brown eyes followed him. I held back a shudder as his calloused hands gently slipped into mine.

"I'll cuff your hands… here," He said as he motioned to the outer corners of the sickeningly convenient iron frame headboard.

Still struggling to catch hold of my panicky breath, my weary eyes followed him as he approached the foot of the bed, grabbing me by the ankles and pulling my body roughly toward him.

"And I'll tie your feet here."

I closed my eyes as he appraised me satisfactorily, reveling in my absolute helplessness. This was it, and he knew it. Bragging about what he was going to do to me was half the fun for him. Instantly, my mind reverted back to his chilling words from the SUV: _"I'm a man of my word." _He was already excited simply from watching me squirm under his threats that I begrudgingly knew were far from empty. He'd been waiting for this moment since the day he taunted me in that interrogation room.

Still squatting by the foot of the bed, he chuckled light heartedly.

"Man… A good old-fashioned iron frame bed!" He spoke aloud to himself, "This…I just knew this place would be perfect."

Clenching my jaw out of anger and revulsion, I held back tears and refused to look directly at his smug expression.

"You want me to burn your clothes off or cut 'em off?"

My heart skipped a beat.

Despite my best efforts to conceal my emotions, I couldn't help the pure terror that slipped its way into my features at his finalizing words. No, no, no, no, no. I wanted to shout at him, to beg for mercy. But my mind and body were frozen in place.

"Scissors," he whispered decisively, "Need some scissors. Where're the scissors?"

As he began rummaging through drawers around the room, my eyes desperately sought out anything that could be of assistance. A tool? A weapon? An escape route?

Nothing. Nothing at all.

As he stepped into the kitchen to continue his search, I gave one final last-ditch effort to break free. And just like all my other attempts, it was unsuccessful. Involuntarily, I felt my eyes burn with tears at the inevitability of it all until he stepped through the door holding an old fashioned seam ripper in his hands. I swallowed.

"Well, that's pretty perfect isn't it?" he bragged, coming toward me to kneel on the bed.

Judging by the crazed look in his eye, removing my clothes was not the only intention he had with this new found weapon of choice. Dozens of forensic photographs flashed through my head of his past victims until I felt absolutely paralyzed with fear. I wanted to close my eyes, to look away, but I found myself frozen before him, my face slowly sinking into an expression of anger. Even if I was completely helpless, I would not let him see my fear.

Just as he prepared to make his first slash, his eyes fixated on mine for a moment too long. He smirked a bit and tilted his head to the side.

"What's that look?" he pondered with sick amusement, "You feeling sad?"

I clenched my jaw.

"Thinking of someone you're never going to see again?"

_Rip. _I barely flinched as he cut away the first strip of duct tape on my legs.

"Mom? Dad…? Boyfriend?"

_Rip. _

Instantly, I turned away to hide my tears at the mention of Brian. His snarky, quick-witted smile flitted before my eyes. Would I ever see him again?

"Oh, someone _else?_"

_Rip._

As I jerked away from Lewis's violent touch, suddenly my mind went to a face that would never leave my memory. Instantly, I could see his bright blue eyes, his broad shoulders, I could hear his soothing voice. My partner, my best friend. I could almost hear his voice inside my head, urging me on, telling me to keep fighting.

"Someone who you would do _anything _to see…"

My heart jumped in panic as Lewis suddenly began slithering over my body. I jerked my head away from him and fearfully closed my eyes in preparation for the long awaited "main event." But he was off me as fast as he had come, his weight shifting beside me as he positioned himself next to the bed, kneeling so that his face was only inches from mine. The smell of alcohol on his breath still hadn't faded to me after 4 long days.

"…just one more time."

He placed a rancid kiss on my pinned arm and I turned away in disgust, praying that this wouldn't happen.

"You gonna cry his name out? At some point, they always do."

I closed my eyes, unable to block out the alternating pictures of Brian and Elliot.

Well, just try to put him out of your mind, okay?" he cooed in my ear, "Because you don't make it out of here alive."

He flipped the sharp weapon around in his hands for emphasis, the reflecting light dancing off it and shining into my soul. In all my time in Lewis's captivity, I had never felt so fearfully close to death, and I knew automatically that I had to fight in any way that I could if I wanted to keep my life. Suddenly, the faces of my boyfriend, my captain, my partner, my _ex-partner, _and everyone I love flashed before my eyes, urging me to survive.

I was unsure of my next move, but I knew from experience that sometimes the best way to work your way into a predator's mind was to give him a little bait first. With a surge of disgust, I realized that I needed to play on his ego, his sexuality.

"You know what," I swallowed weakly, begrudgingly willing myself to play this role, "You might want to keep me around… I know what you like.

Suddenly, his dark eyes flared up with arousal at my counter move. _Good. The first step is catching his attention._

"Well then, you've been holding out on me," he smirked, probably reading my ploy like an open book, but I had to keep trying.

"Yeah," I urged myself to speak, masking the disgust in my voice with a thick layer of seduction, "But that's what you want, isn't it? Hard to get? I'm not begging for it… I know how to get you off."

"You do?"

His eyes betrayed just a brief moment of curiosity before he recovered his calm facade, but it fueled me to continue. _I got him hooked. _

"Yeah," I continued, my confidence growing, "Kentuckly, Alabama… I've seen the photos. I probably know more details about it than you remember!"

"Oh, I doubt that," His sharp smile pierces my soul as he stares me down, unwilling to falter.

"You know," I picked up, "I've seen a lot of things, but I've never seen anything…like this. You're not some punk."

"Don't try and play me now, sweetheart," he shakes his head.

"I'm not playing you. No," I quickly fire back, "Because I know you don't like that."

His eyes appraised me cautiously, but I took his silence as a sign to go on.

"Those two girls in the cabin," I recalled, "You hung one by her arm in the closet and you made her listen while you did the other one. For two days! Did you—did you even sleep?"

"No," he quickly retorted, "Nah, I don't _need _sleep. Not once I get on a role, you're going to find that out."

I couldn't help but feel a tightness in my chest at his threatening words.

"When?" I choked, unable to hide the slight tremor in my voice.

"Now," he grins.

_Here we go, _I think, _It's now or never for this plan to work. _I had to step it up.

"Well, then," I urged, "You might want to loosen these cuffs or take them off…"

His eyes told me that he wasn't really falling for any of this but I pressed on desperately.

"I know you like a struggle," I seduced.

"You want to show me how strong you are."

_Swallow._

"Overpower me."

_Please, work. _

"Pin my arms behind my back…come o—"

"NO!" His angry voice suddenly lashed out.

Before I could register what was happening, I found myself pushed back into the pillows beneath me with the barrel of my own gun shoved deep into my mouth.

A feeble, broken whimper escaped around the cool metal of the gun.

"You don't tell me what to do," he warned with an eerie tone that matched the look in his eyes, "Now, you say..?"

Despite my raging fear, I couldn't tear my eyes away from his as I broke down every built up wall of pride and dignity to plead my next words.

"I want to live," I croaked through tears, "I'll do anything."

There. There it was. That's what he'd wanted the whole time—the submission, the begging. And I gave it to him.

With sickening pleasure, he uttered his next soul-crushing words:

"Yeah…Yes, you will."

Then, his hands reached for the buckle on my belt.

No. No no no no no no no. My heart was beating so fast and hard in my chest, I thought I might have a heart attack before he even had the chance to kill me. The clanging of my metal belt buckle followed by the sound of my own zipper sent me into a flurry of panic.

"Please don't!" I choked out through my heaving sobs, my hands yanking futilely at the sharp metal around my wrists, "Lewis, please. Please stop! Don't do this."

He looked down at me with a look of shameless amusement.

"Oh, no, sweetheart," he soothed, reaching up to run a hand over my tear soaked cheek, "You're going to give me everything I want."

In one sharp movement, he yanked my pants down to my ankles.

"No!" I screamed out, closing my eyes as he pounced onto the bed to straddle my hips, "Get off me! Get off me!"

I kicked out and thrashed as hard as I could in every direction, but I was at an obvious disadvantage. He had me trapped.

"Shh, shh," he mocked, running his thumbs over the streams of tears on my face, "It's okay, it's okay. Just lay back and enjoy it, detective. I know I will."

As he cradled my face in his hands, I looked up into his cold brown eyes in despair. Suddenly, I was no longer Detective Olivia Benson. Instead, I felt myself giving way to a side of me I had only seen once before, in the confines of a cold, damp basement.

"Please," I whispered as my entire body wracked with sobs, "Please, don't."

But his sadistic grin told me that begging would get me nowhere—that my hope was long gone.

A loud rip sounded throughout the room as he tore my thin black shirt completely down the middle with the blade of the seam ripper, exposing my bra-clad chest to him. Averting my eyes, I went into survival mode, trying to do anything I could to block out the vile feeling of his calloused hands raking over my skin.

_Think of Brian, think of Elliot, think of ANYTHING. Dissociate._

But I couldn't escape_. _Years of detective training—training to pay close attention to detail—were my downfall. I was physically _and _mentally stuck here in this room with him_, underneath _him, as he ripped away what little dignity I had left in my mind, body, and soul_. _I couldn't help the cry that escaped my lips as he tore off my bra in one swift yank, my face burning red with shame and humiliation as his eyes lapped up my fully exposed chest.

"So beautiful," he whispered hungrily, his mouth crashing into mine as his hands explored their newly discovered region.

"No!" I tried to scream out, but all my cries were reduced to pitiful whimpers beneath his wildly moving mouth.

I couldn't believe this was happening, that this was undoubtedly _going _to happen and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

_Just survive, _I chanted in my head, repeating the familiar words I'd told to countless victims over the years. _Your only job is to survive. Just fight through the pain._

But as Lewis's hand reached between us and tore away my underwear, I instantly knew that living through this hell was going to be far more horrific than I could ever bear.

"Help me!" I screeched out in panic, thrashing my now naked body beneath his. I knew that no one could hear me—that Lewis had made sure of that—but my body was operating without my mind, running on pure primal instinct.

"Somebody, HELP!"

"I don't know who you're screaming to," he taunted, rocking back into a kneeling position to unfasten his pants, "It's just me and you, baby."

With a sick smirk on his face, he released his buckle and shoved his jeans down his thighs, exposing himself completely. My throat produced a gurgling sound as I hurriedly turned my head away, unable to bear the sight of him… unable to watch the inevitable. But his hand instantly flew to my face, grabbing my chin roughly and forcing my eyes back to his.

"Uh, uh, uh, sweetheart," he chastised, eyes darkening as they captured mine, "You look at me. I want to see how much you're going to enjoy me."

At his last words, he balanced himself with his hands on my hips and proceeded to dig his knees into my thighs, prying me open to him.

"No, no, no, no, no," I chanted weakly through my choked sobs.

But I knew it was futile. It was over. He was going to take what he wanted and I had to find a way to live through it.

Despite the waves of shame and self-loathing that crashed over me, I found myself falling silent and still beneath his invasive body, minimizing my fight to the steady flow of quiet tears that fell from my eyes. Contrary to all the years of telling myself I'd always be the type to fight until my very last breath, I, Olivia Benson, was submitting. I was still fighting, but just a different kind of fight: a fight to survive, trying so hard to relax my tensed body, doing _anything _to prepare my body for the onslaught of pain that William Lewis was about to inflict.

_ Just survive. Just survive. Just survive. _


	7. Tables Turned

Lewis's final growl of release rustled against my ear, as his lips—slick with saliva—planted one last kiss at the base of my throat. I barely flinched this time, my eyes gazing stoically up at the smooth, white ceiling, just as they had for the last two hours. Detached. Defeated. After one final painful thrust to accompany his sickening grunt, he collapsed his sweat-slicked body on top of mine, pushing the air from my lungs under his crushing weight. I didn't even try to move beneath him this time. As his hot breath assaulted my neck, I just lied there sandwiched between him and the mattress, praying with everything I had left that he was done. Fortunately, after a few moments, he wordlessly untangled his body from mine and rolled off the creaking bed, leaving me naked and vulnerable, the ragged rise and fall of my chest quivering with each unsteady breath.

_Four times, _my mind echoed, replaying the last couple of hours in my head. Four _achingly_ miserable times that disgusting human being had raped me, one violation after another, brutal and unrelenting. Each time more and more painful. Each time thinking, hoping, praying that it was the last. Each time devastated when it wasn't. As quickly as he'd finish with one round of torture, he'd start warming up for the next: forceful kisses on my swollen lips, wondering hands grazing my sensitive bruises, his arousal growing against my leg until he was ready to go again.

I had wanted to scream out… _shoot me, just kill me. Just make it stop… _Through the unbearable pain and ruthless violation, I'd begun to question whether or not telling him that I'd do anything to live was a bargain I wanted to maintain, that maybe I'd be better off begging for death. _He was going to kill me anyways. _But I didn't. I'd just lied beneath him silently, tears soaking my face and mingling with his vile drips of sweat that splashed onto my crawling skin, as he tore away everything I had left. _Over and over and over and over. _

Without shifting my detached eyes, I could sense that he had now left the room. But as my mind recalled his promises during the assault that our "fun" was far from over, I could only imagine the multiple possibilities of where he had gone, of what instruments of torture he had gone to retrieve, but I didn't have the energy to entertain the sickening thought. He had drained me dry. All I could do was lay helplessly there, trying impossibly to catch my breath and regain my composure as I dealt with the reality of what just happened to me. A part of me couldn't believe that he had finally done it, that after four long days, he had finally taken what he wanted from me. And I had let him.

Falling second only to the excruciating emotional damage, was the blaring physical pain that dominated my entire body. I wished more than anything that I could have my hands free, if only for a moment, to tend to the countless injuries he had inflicted during his assault. Although I was unwilling to let my eyes wonder down to the mess that was now my body, I didn't need my eyes to assess the damage. Accompanying the most prominent area of pain was the warm river of blood—and other unthinkable fluids—that I could feel pooled between my thighs. The thought alone brought forth another burning rush of tears. I could feel him, smell him, taste him still. I had a feeling that if I survived this, those feelings would never let me go.

"_I knew you would be worth the wait," his hot breath had hissed into my ear during his first assault, just after he had first ripped into me. _

I squeezed my eyes shut at the fresh reminder. Just as my chest began to constrict dangerously at the flood of memories, the sound of Lewis's thundering boots signaled his return and I froze in my place.

He appeared in the doorway a moment later, now wearing only a pair of jeans, and the sight of him summoned a surge of nausea in my stomach; red-faced from energy exertion, hair dripping with sweat, a look of satisfaction plastered onto his semi-swollen lips. I could see the sheen glisten of moisture across his clammy skin and instantly I could feel his sweat once again dripping onto my body. The sight that sickened me the most, however, was the knife and the bundle of rope he held in his hands.

Still a little out of breath himself, he appraised me from the doorway, his eyes raking deviously over my exposed body. Immediately, I shifted my eyes away, wishing that I could sink into the ground and disappear from his sight, or at least have the liberty to cover myself with my hands. As his clobbering footsteps approached the bed, I shrank back against the mattress, the thought of his touch sending a swell of panic through my chest. But he simply laughed and reached forward to run a sweaty palm through my mess of hair.

"Hey, sweetheart," he whispered, almost lovingly, "That was great."

I felt a pang of self-loathing as I turned my head away and a whimper escaped my lips at his words, his voice, his touch. I should have been glaring at him, spitting in his face, showing him that he hadn't broken me, but all I could feel in his presence was the unadulterated fear.

"Oh, you're still being shy, huh?" he chuckled, trailing his hand down from my hair to stroke across my skin, "I thought you'd be past that after we've been so… well acquainted."

He met my petrified glance with a sadistic smile as he gave my breast a firm squeeze.

"Well, honey," he whispered, leaning in toward my face, "That was just a warm up. You haven't seen anything yet."

Abruptly, he stood to his feet and pulled out the rope and knife.

"Don't get me wrong," he clarified as he began to cut the rope into shorter segments, "That was fantastic, really. But I think we need to… tie you up _properly_ before we resume."

Panicked, my mind reverted to his haunting words from a few long hours ago; his promise to tie my feet and hands to the four corners of the bed. Horrific images from his past crime scenes flashed before me, of women tied spread-eagle to the bed frame, completely powerless and waiting for death. Alice Parker. Mrs. Mayer. Now, me. The torture was going to continue. He was going to rape me again. And again and again and again.

"No," my dry throat managed to croak without my permission, "No, please.. don't. Just-just please don't do this. Please. No more."

"Worn down so quickly, huh?" he laughed, sorting the rope by size in his hands, "And here I thought you'd do _anything_ to live. I pegged you as being a little tougher than that, Detective."

My weary heart grew to a crescendo against the inside of my sore ribcage at the thought of him violating me again, of being strapped down like a slab of meat on a scientist's tray, only an object to do with as he pleased. As a flurry of panic built inside of me, he only responded with laughter at my meek and feeble attempts to pull on my restraints. The pain—the pain was too much. My body had been abused and rubbed raw and I couldn't bear any more of this torture. I could feel myself giving way to darkness and my eyes blurred over with tears. I couldn't live through this again. _Please. Kill me. Just kill me. Just kill me._

As Lewis sliced his last shred of rope, and as my quivering voice prepared to beg for the ultimate mercy of death, something happened, and the world stopped in its track.

One simple sound suddenly made time stand still: A sharp knocking at the door.

Instantly, as Lewis's head snapped up in the direction of the noise, without thinking, my suddenly refurbished instincts kicked in.

"HELP ME!" I screamed out, loud enough for the heavens to hear. My rebellion was short lived as Lewis's hand plastered itself firmly over my mouth, but it didn't stop the small burning fire of hope that had been reignited.

"_Shut. Up."_ He barked at me, jamming his gun into my face. I closed my eyes and cringed back from him, but he tightened his hand over my mouth, forcing me to look up at him.

"Listen here," he threatened, all hint of amusement in his voice abolished, "I'm going to go take care of the situation at the door. If you so much as make one peep for them to hear, we'll invite them to our little party and they will end up just as dead as you. You understand me?"

Wilting beneath the weight of his threat and his glare, I nodded my head.

"Good," he spat, releasing his hand from my face and stepping away, "But just as a little insurance policy…"

I flinched as he violently slapped a strip of duct tape over my lips.

"I'll be back in just a second, sweetheart," he whispered before kissing me over my tape, "And then we can have some more fun."

And then he was gone.

The moment he stepped out of the room, my body snapped into action. As I attempted to pull myself into a sitting position, I felt the radiating soreness flashing through each of my stiff joints with each movement. After a few hopeless tugs against the metal circles around my raw, bleeding wrists, I realized that I wasn't getting anywhere with these restraints. I had to find a way to break free. That's when I spotted it: a small mercy from heaven, a flaw in the system. As I shook the headboard of the bed with what little deteriorated strength I had left, I could feel a bit of slack in the metal bar's socket. It was loose.

With an adrenaline fueled bout of strength, I curled my shaky palms around the smooth edge of the iron bar, gripping it tightly in both hands, and began furiously yanking at the frame, careful not to make enough noise for Lewis or the innocent passerby to hear. When the rattling bar refused to move from its hold, I felt my eyes well up with tears. I only had so long until he returned, and I knew this could very well be my last chance at surviving this. I had to fight harder, be stronger. Instinctively, I kicked my legs upward toward the bar, grateful for my general flexibility, but still cringing at the tearing pain that shot through my lower region from the horrific assault I'd just endured. Biting back a cry of pain, my leg made hard contact with the metal bed frame a few more times until I knew I would have bruises and then _POP. _

In a flash, the iron bar broke free from its hold and landed in the palms of my trembling hands. _I did it! It worked!_ I only stared at the broken frame in disbelief for a moment before my adrenaline propelled me to keep moving. Despite the pins and needles that trickled through my stiff arms and legs from hours of restraint, I slowly peeled the duct tape from my lips and pushed myself unsteadily to a standing position, feeling a cold rush of pain echo throughout my abused body. Just as I found my footing, I heard the front door of the house slam shut and my heart fell into my gut. Thinking quickly on my feet, I pressed myself stealthily back against the wall adjacent to the doorway, hiding myself from view. Raising the bar silently over shoulder, I prepared for my one and only chance for attack.

"Hey, sweetheart, I'm back!" he called, approaching the room, "It was just some house cleaning lady, but I got rid—"

_Bang. _Unable to waste a valuable second, I swung the rusty pole at him right as he stepped through the threshold, making a direct hit for his forehead. Following a startled grunt of pain, his heavy body immediately hit the floor with a thud, and then he was still. Out like a light on the first hit. In complete and utter shock that my plan had been successful, I stared at his unconscious body opened-mouthed for a few silent seconds. Lewis was down for the count. I was standing. I was breathing. I was alive. I was _free. _My mind seemed unable to grasp the factas the room began to spin around me_. _Suddenly, the affects of all the alcohol, all the pills, all the fear and all the trauma hit me at once like a freight train, sending a swarm of dizziness over my sluggish body.

Giving in to my trembling knees, I slowly lowered my aching body to the ground where his body lay only a couple feet from my reach. Painstakingly, I crawled over to him, cautious of my movements, unsteadily afraid that I would wake him somehow. With cuffed hands, I reached to reclaim the most coveted possession. Flipping his body roughly onto his stomach, I finally gained access to the gun in his waistband. A sigh of relief escaped my lips as my hands immediately slipped around the cool, familiar metal of the gun handle. All at once, I could feel the empowering sense of control slipping back into my grasps. I was in charge, he didn't own me. He couldn't hurt me anymore. It was over.

After retrieving the handcuff key from his pocket and releasing myself of my binds, my tensed shoulders visibly relaxed at my state of complete freedom, letting out a heavy breath that I'd seemed to be holding for four long days. Gun in hand, restraint free, and too weak yet to stand, I took a moment to really assess the surreal scene around me. Lewis's lifeless body, scattered scraps of duct tape and rope, the dreadful, creaky, now-broken bed—all seemed to spin around me in a disorienting blur. I openly shuddered as my eyes found the fresh stain of blood in the middle of the mattress, surrounded by the shredded remains of my clothing. At the sight of my torn clothes scattered from the bed to the cold, wooden floor, I remembered my state of nakedness and instantly shivered at the sudden cold that brushed over my tender skin.

I knew I had a few options at this point, but only a short time to make a decision before he was awake. But first and foremost, my basic police skills kicked into gear; step one, detain the suspect. Despite the painful cries of protest from my aching body, I pushed myself once again to my feet, lifted his ankles in my hands and painstakingly dragged his body across the wooden floor until he landed at the foot of the bed. After I dropped his feet carelessly to the ground, I retrieved the handcuffs from the ground and yanked his hands up to the metal bar at the foot of the bed. Dreadful flashbacks assaulted my mind of when he'd done the same thing to me only a few hours ago, fastening my weakened limbs into a hopeless position above my head. I swallowed a lump of sickness in my throat as I clicked the metal circles tightly into place around his wrists.

"These cuffs too tight, _baby?_" I seethed into his lifeless face, repeating back the words that he had endlessly mocked me with over the course of the past four days.

Satisfied and disgusted, I stepped back from my handiwork and leaned unsteadily against the wall, unable to support my body on my own two feet. Now it was time to decide.

Spotting my slightly-cracked, white iPhone on the chair across the room, I acknowledged that I could—and probably should—call my squad, my partner, who was probably searching frantically across the entire state of New York right now, but something strange twinged inside of me at the thought... something unfamiliar. Logically, I _should _be leaping toward the phone right now, unable to waste another second here in this hell-hole. All of which aligned with how I felt… except for the unfaltering desire for vengeance that suddenly seemed to pit in my stomach.

For years of working on the job, I'd encountered first-hand the most vile human beings to ever scrape the Earth with their presence. I'd _felt _this feeling before: the overwhelming need to dish out a punishment far more suitable for a monster than the legal system could ever dream of. But I always had to be the sensible partner, the one who bore the voice of reason in the name of "justice." But now… after _four torturous days_ deprived of food, water, sleep, and sanity, I wasn't sure just how much longer I could maintain that role. Suddenly, my mind, seeing red with fury, was bombarded with a montage of the last few horrific days. The sadistic smile that reached his eyes when he shoved the burning stub of his cigarette into my skin. The look of terror on Mrs. Mayer's face as he tortured her ruthlessly before my helpless eyes. The feel of him as he tore away the last of my dignity, completely desecrating my body and soul.

One look at the pathetic excuse for a man lying unconscious at my feet and I knew: that phone call to Nick was just going to have to wait.


End file.
